Funerals

Throughout his forty years of ministry, he had been called to officiate at countless

funeral services. It never ceased to amaze him how the services were done. He had seen it all.

Or at least he thought he had. Some would always stand out in his mind.

He remembered doing a biker’s funeral. The club had shown up wearing their colors.

Jean jackets were made into vests, sleeves removed and their club name emblazoned front

and rear. They all wore shades, were heavily tattooed, and were either bald or had wild, unruly

hair. The ride to the graveyard was interesting. Eighty-four bikers led the way. Police presence

had been heavy with a car sitting at each intersection. As he had concluded the gravesite

service they bid farewell with a beer salute. He had been relieved when it was over.

He never forgot officiating a circus clown’s funeral. He was lying in his casket in full

makeup and costume. His clown shoes were lying by his side. They were too long and would

interfere with closing the casket lid. The pallbearers had been clowns. Each was dressed up as

they would appear at the circus. He had a hard time keeping from cracking a smile at their

appearance.

He also would never forget officiating a Civil War re-enactors funeral. In his unit, he was

a colonel. He lie in his casket wearing a Confederate uniform, a rebel flag was draped across

his casket, and the pallbearers were from his brigade. At the gravesite, after receiving special

permission from the authorities, they gave him a twenty-on-gun salute. The black powder

smoke covered the gravesite. To conclude the service a bugler played “Dixie”.

These three would always be mentioned if anyone ever asked him about unusual

funerals.

But there was one that topped them all. He still teared up when he thought about it. He

couldn’t help it. What happened touched his heart.

He had received a call from a grieving couple. They had been in an accident and their

four-year-old, little boy had been killed. It had been so devastating it almost destroyed them.

He remembered arriving at the funeral home and going with them to the private

showing before it was open to the public. The mother had to be supported to keep from

collapsing. She was wailing at the top of her voice.

If a little boy could be beautiful, little Jason was. A little angel with blonde hair, ruby red

cheeks, and a slight smile was on his face. He was dressed in a little suit jacket, white shirt, tie

and matching shorts. A Teddy Bear was nestled beside him. He was the epitome of innocence.

The pastor noticed a bruise on his temple. They had tried to cover it up the best they

could, but it was obvious. He stayed with the couple throughout the viewing. There was a large

number of people who came to pay their respects and it was physically draining for everyone.

That night the pastor went to his study, went to his knees, and prayed.

“Father, what do I say? This is so different from any other funeral I’ve ever done. How

do I comfort his parents?”

As he bowed there in silence, a still, small voice spoke into his spirit.

“My son, I know you don’t know what to do. Let me guide you. First, I want you to tell

them that I have spoken to you. I want you to tell them that Jason is here with me as we speak.

He is sitting on my lap and running his fingers through my beard. Tell them he is giggling with

joy. Tell them that he is here waiting for them to come and join him. Tell them that he will be

playing with the other children, in a large meadow, not far from my throne. I can see it from my

throne very easily. I enjoy watching the children play.”

He had been astounded by what he heard. God had just made his job a lot easier.

“One other thing I will do. I will allow them to see him in their dreams one night.” God

said and then He was gone.

“Thank you, Father, thank you for what you are doing.” he had prayed.

A week after the funeral he received a phone call from Jason’s parents.

“Pastor, we saw Jason in our dreams. He was sitting on someone’s lap. He was giggling

and running his fingers through a long, white beard. Was it God? We couldn’t see the person’s

face. We could tell He was wearing a white, shining garment. Pastor, was it God?”

At the funeral, he hadn’t told them that God was going to allow them to see Jason. He

now related this to them and they both began crying.

“Pastor,” the father whispered, “our little boy is in Heaven. You don’t have any idea

what this means to us. To know he is safe and secure takes a load off our minds.”

“Let me ask you something,” asked the pastor,” do you know Jesus? Will you join

Jason in Heaven?”

“We hope so.”

“Have you asked Jesus into your heart? Have you repented of your sins?”

“No,” they both answered.

“Do you believe in Jesus?”

“We do now.”

“Would you like to meet Him? Allow Him to be your Master and Savior?”

“Yes.”

The pastor led them to the Lord. He could visualize a happy, family reunion in Heaven.

Later, on his knees, he prayed, “Thank you, Father, for guiding me. Take care of Jason

until his parents get there.”

“I will. Well done,” came the reply, “well done.”

June 26, 2023